Page 14 of Pour Decisions
“I found out what happened, that they disqualified you. I feel bad for whatever part I played in that.”
“You mean the whole part you played in that, where you set it up with Michael?” I ask. “Is that the part you feel bad about?”
“I didn’t set it up with Michael. I don’t know where you got that idea from.”
“I got it from the fact that it’s the most logical explanation for what happened.”
“Me and Micheal setting something up is the most logical explanation for you getting removed from the competition?”
“And an explanation for why you asked me to dance to begin with.”
“Why do you have such a hard time accepting I was attracted to you?”
“Pfft.” I gesture to myself then reach in the box to pull out a donut and take a large bite to further prove my point. Trying not to dwell on the fact he used the wordwas.
“Anyway, I wanted to see if I could make it up to you. Maybe by helping you find another competition to enter.”
“I don’t need you doing me any favors,” I tell him, finishing the first donut and grabbing another. Any second now the sugar rush will kick in and I’ll find the energy to throw him out.
“My god, you’re difficult. I don’t know why I even bothered.” He throws his hands in the air and turns to leave.
I watch as he walks toward the front door, torn between wanting to stop him or eat some more donuts, then go back to bed.
“Riggs, wait,” I say finally. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t know what my problem is. Give me a second, I’ll be right back.”
He hesitates.
“Please,” I add, gesturing toward the table, hoping he takes the hint to sit back down, then rush down the hallway toward the bathroom. My hands going immediately to my hair, trying to smooth it down on the sides. When that doesn’t work, I throw it up in a messy bun and leave it at that. I gargle with mouthwash, splash some water on my face, then at the last second throw on some mascara and lip-gloss.
Feeling moderately presentable, I head back to the dining room. Where Riggs, if my calculations are correct, is polishing off his fourth donut. I raise a brow and tilt my head toward the box.
He smiles sheepishly. “I was hungry. That’s why I brought a dozen.”
He’s cute when he smiles. More than cute really, sexy would be a better descriptor. He makes my nether regions all tingly and excited.
I wave my hand in the air, dismissing my own unspoken admonition.
“Truce?” I offer my hand so we can shake on it. He smirks but takes it anyway.
“Truce,” he confirms. “Now, will you listen to me when I tell you I didn’t have some master plan with Michael to get you thrown out of the competition?”
I grab a donut from the box. “You can tell me whatever you want to now, the plan worked.”
He looks at me, brows raised.
I still the hand bringing the donut to my mouth. “Okay, yes. I will listen.”
“Good.” He grabs another donut from the box. His fifth or sixth at this point. I want to ask how the donuts are a peace offering for me when he’s eating them all, but I don’t. Because what am I going to do with a dozen donuts outside of eat them? And if I eat a dozen donuts, even half a dozen, I’ll hate myself.
Which is also what stops me from keeping this third donut in my hand. Instead, I put it back in the box. Then slip that same hand under my thigh to keep it restrained and take the coffee cup in my other to keep it busy while I wait.
And wait.
I smile in what I hope is an encouraging manner to show him he can begin talking at any time. Convince me of how he doesn’t have some master plan with Michael to take me down. Only he just smiles in return in between bites of donut and sips of coffee.
“Well?” I ask when I can’t take the silence any longer.
He looks confused. “Well, what?”
